


Eye Of the Storm

by FenHarelMaGhilana (WhitethornWolf)



Series: Fortune Favour Me [22]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-01-27 17:13:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1718294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhitethornWolf/pseuds/FenHarelMaGhilana





	Eye Of the Storm

_“Eilin!”_

She’d recognise Alistair’s voice anywhere, even bellowed at her across the battlefield -- but she couldn’t break her focus, not now, or she’d be dead in an instant.

The dragon’s neck writhed before her, slick and unsteady. Eilin kept moving. Sword in one hand, dagger in the other, trying not to think about how far away the ground was - and trying not to be distracted by the background noise of the battle. An arrow whistled past her ear, so close she jerked and nearly lost her balance.

It was a good thing she read so much in her adolescence, or they’d be stuck hacking at the beast until it finally succumbed to its injuries. This was the better way. A dangerous, reckless, foolhardy way, but what would she be if she wasn’t willing to risk a little danger?

 

Eilin crouched as another arrow flew by (followed by a faint apologetic shout), and shoved her dagger under the segmented scale on its neck, blindly slicing at the softer flesh underneath -- then the blade hit home, blood spraying out all over her hands, down her trousers and shirt. The dragon shrieked and reared back; she slid sideways, dropping her dagger in favour of clinging to its neck. Her muscles burned, and she echoed their protest out loud as she pulled herself upright and plunged her sword into the back of the dragon’s head.

 

 _I mustn’t let go, I mustn’t_ , she thought as the creature collapsed bonelessly. And if thoughts were enough to make it so, maybe that would have worked.

She slipped sideways, scraping her knees bloody on its scales, and the wind flung her into empty air.

  
  


* * *

 

“Eilin! Eilin!”

 

“Go away,” she mumbled, and flung a hand over her face. It was too bright, too loud, too everything, and she just wanted to sleep.

A hand touched her cheek, calloused fingers sticky with blood and Maker-knew-what-else.

  
“Child, you must stay awake.”

 

“I don’t want to,” she complained, but opened her eyes anyway.

The first thing she saw was a clawed foot the size of her torso, and a pool of dark blood. Agony stabbed through her right shoulder when she began to sit up; she fell back against a solid breastplate with a thump that drove out what little breath she had left.

 

“Careful,” Alistair said, as she yelped in pain. “Wynne said you broke a collarbone.”

 

“You’re lucky it wasn’t your neck,” Wynne said crisply. She pressed a hand to Eilin’s shoulder and her fingers began to glow blue.

Eilin squeezed her eyes shut and let the magic wash over her. The feeling of her bones shifting and knitting together was distinctly uncomfortable, but it was not painful.

There was something to be said for healing magic. It could mean the difference between life and death on a battlefield, but it came at a terrible cost. Wynne was grey-faced when she finally lowered her hand and reached for her satchel of potions.

“No more,” Eilin said. “Having a functioning arm is good enough, never mind the soreness. See to everyone else, yourself especially.”

 

“The others are fine,” Wynne replied. “ _They_ didn’t fall off a dragon’s back.”

But she downed one of her lyrium potions and left them sitting in the shadow of the dead creature.

 

“You terrify me,” Alistair said as Eilin got to her feet gingerly. “You know that, right?”

 

“You love it.”

 

“I love _you_. But you still terrify me.”

 

The fall had shaken her, she realised as they began to gather their scattered weapons and arrows. The ground was soaked in blood; rivulets ran down the rocky path, stained the grass the colour of rust. She felt odd, like she wasn’t meant to be seeing this. By rights, the dragon should have killed her.

Or maybe it was what Alistair had said.

 

_I love you. But you still terrify me._

 

The second part was a joke. She wondered if the first part was, too. Eilin didn’t know if she could bear the reality of that.

 

“If I didn’t see it, I wouldn’t have believed it,” Alistair said. He pushed one boot against the dragon’s head, grasped her sword and pulled. It came free with a sickening wet sound; sharp blade against soft flesh. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget, either.”

 

Eilin accepted the blade, wiped it on her tunic, and sheathed it. “Dragons are rare enough.”

 

“So are you.”

 

It hurt to laugh, but she did anyway. “Well, of course. There’s no-one else like me.”

 

“There really isn’t,” Alistair said, with such an odd note in his voice that she glanced at him curiously. “Just...try to keep yourself in one piece. For my sake if not yours.”

  
  
  


* * *

 

 

The stream was the coldest water she’d ever bathed in, even worse than the run-off from Lake Calenhad. It shouldn’t have surprised her, given how close they were to the Frostbacks. It also didn’t help that Alistair was less than ten feet away.

It had been Wynne who suggested he accompany her, pointing out that Dannar couldn’t fish her out of the stream if she fainted. Leliana and Zevran had gone hunting, Morrigan and Sten to scout the area. Wynne was more likely to faint than she, especially after the amount of healing she’d done in the battle.

 

“After what happened in the Gauntlet, it can’t get any more awkward,” Eilin said brightly, as she scrubbed her shirt in the water.

Alistair sat against a nearby tree with his sword balanced across his knees. He flicked a glance at her as she looked over her shoulder. There was nothing to see but her bare neck and shoulders, but he dropped his gaze anyway.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” Eilin wrung out her shirt and spread it on a flat rock, her hands shaking from the cold. “You can go back to camp if you like. I don’t think I’m going to swoon.”

 

“You’ve never made me uncomfortable, ever,” Alistair said. His ears were red, she saw, but his face turned away so she couldn’t gauge his expression. “Nervous, maybe. Frightening, when you get mad. But not uncomfortable.”

 

“I don’t feel very frightening,” Eilin admitted, and pulled her trousers into the water. “Just cold.”

 

“It’s not that cold.”

 

“ _You’re_ not naked.”

 

Alistair said nothing, but the rhythmic scrape of the whetstone comforted her somewhat, even if she couldn’t see him with her back turned.

Her hair was just as dirty as the rest of her, and it took three lathers of soap and vigorous scrubbing before the matted tangles began to soften. Her scalp burned, but it was a good sort of burn - fresh and cold and clean. She stood, wringing her hair out, and looked back over her shoulder again.

 

Alistair was watching her.

 

The blush swept over his cheeks as their eyes met, her eyebrows raised.

“Like what you see?” she said, in an attempt at a joking manner.

 

“I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I didn’t mean - “

 

“It’s alright,” Eilin said, and bent to retrieve her clothes.

She didn’t mind that much, in truth. She’d felt much worse earlier in the ruined temple. Then, she’d been forced to strip to her smallclothes in front of half her companions. Now, standing half-naked on a river bank with Alistair two feet away, she felt nothing but gooseflesh and annoyance.

 

She turned to face him. Her hair hung cold and wet on the back of her neck, but her clothes were dry and her cloak smelled like wood smoke and grass. “You said you loved me earlier. Was that a joke, or did you mean it?”

 

His entire face changed, realisation and genuine surprise dawning in his expression. He pushed the sword off his lap and went to her, cupping her face between his hands. His palms were burning hot.

“Eilin,” he said incredulously. “Was that bothering you the whole time?”

 

“Of course it was!” she said loudly, glaring at him. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

 

Alistair looked sheepish. “Well, no, but --”

 

“Say it again.”

 

“I love you.”

 

“Louder. I didn’t hear you.”

 

Alistair rolled his eyes. “You’re standing two inches away from me. And I didn’t even cover your ears!”

 

“Let me take care of those, then.” She leaned forward and kissed him, her hand curling around the back of his neck.

 

“You love to have the last word, don’t you?”

 

“Not as much as I love you,” Eilin said.

 

Her smile lasted the rest of the day.

 

 


End file.
